


Before Temptation

by Varjo



Series: Timeline [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blood and Injury, Depiction of war, Gen, Glorious Revolution, Origin Story, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varjo/pseuds/Varjo
Summary: A simple soldier, and a simple builder. They should not have ever laid eyes on each other, and yet the Glorious Revolution makes their paths cross in the most gruesome way possible. What drives the latter to visit the former on his way out of Eden after his temptation of Eve, and what does the first woman, Lilith, have to do with it?
Series: Timeline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842865
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	1. The Soldier

The young member of the Principalities* was a soldier.  
His was an arduous, demanding existence in the celestial forces; exercise, training for body and mind, building and maintaining of discipline and spiritedness, swinging the sword for attack and defence, mastering and internalizing the usage of one’s own miracle energy, making oneself great and imposing in front of the enemy and letting him know: here is no way for you. Pushing back one’s instinctive tenderness and pacifist urges, moving them to a later point in time, to calmer, more peaceful moments…  
Nevertheless, the angel had also intuitively liked what he had heard: you will protect, the Almighty had instructed him upon breathing life into him. Your calling will be to spread out your power like a shield in front of you to safeguard whoever will put their trust in you.  
The angel had nodded, confident and joyful determination fighting against uncertainty and restraint, and joined his platoon. He had felt anxious: having just emerged from the endless howling ether and already assigned to such a vital task… but he had pulled himself together swiftly and acknowledged this assignment as his rightful burden. The only doubts he entertained furthermore concerned himself: he was so young, so inexperienced, so soft and shapeless. Could he muster the intransigence a soldier had to exhibit? Did he even have a chance to do well, to perform half the deeds that the Almighty had seen fit to ask of him?  
The fact that he was not completely by himself in this helped somewhat to strengthen his resolve and assuage his rampaging thoughts. In pure white uniformity with him, several other angels of all shapes, sizes and attitudes had gathered, and they all agreed that this was the most important and glorious thing they could do: to ensure safety, integrity, calm, and light.  
To protect… but who?  
Their officer, instructor and brilliant role model was Archangel Michael; an angel in perfection, white enough to veer into colourlessness, with strong limbs, snow-white wings and an endlessly experienced, intelligent face, always bathed in a blinding sheen. She swept through the ranks with an energy that was enviable to all, and a light-footedness they could not explain. She provided strength, order, guidance, encouragement and – most significantly – a common goal. She was exalted and she was venerable, but she was also merciless in her upkeep of the law and let them all know, without fail, that when the time came, they would have to be no less.  
But whose time? What time? The question never left the angel’s mind, even when he sparred or let himself be corrected by Archangel Michael or her aide Archangel Uriel. Uriel was no less spirited and steadfast than Michael, but for some reason duller, less dazzling and superlative, cream in colour and appearance in comparison to Michael’s unnatural white. Needless to say, she nevertheless enjoyed the whole division’s unbroken veneration and respect.  
Still, the question remained: who or what was he trained to keep safe? This was a universe that belonged to the angels alone, created and tailored by the Almighty especially for their needs and concerns. There were no dangers far and wide; not for them, not even for the builders who never fought, but constructed and placed galaxies, nebulae and black holes in complete undisturbed calm in the cosmos’ blackness. The angel did not understand what opposition he was meant to take sides in, no matter how much he exerted himself, no matter how much he tried to divert his thoughts with physical exercise, by which he was slowly gaining better control over his powers and unwieldy, awkward body. But he also did not know who to address with this question, except for the Almighty Herself…  
And would he, a simple legion angel, even dare to do so?  
When he finally got over himself and posed the question, he received nothing but silence in return; but an eloquent silence. He was hit by a feeling after he had formulated that question, kneeling and raising his head in anticipation; a strangling, oppressive, somehow saddening sensation that made him realize he merely had to wait. They had only just begun to shape this universe… the day would come when every soldier would be sorely needed.  
There will be creatures, weaker than they, he suddenly realized, who would depend on having themselves, their souls and surroundings be kept pure and secure. These living things would be his, their wards; whatever they needed to be safeguarded from would appear all by itself. In time.  
The angel had bitten his lower lip; it was a message that should have made him happy, since it should have made obvious to him that his struggling and striving were not for naught. Alas, he merely felt apprehensive and melancholy. He could not explain it to himself, and since he was a trifle ashamed of it, he rose hastily, straightening the fluttering uniform unnecessarily, and walked away, facing the floor, wings furled behind his back.  
Your time will come.  
The time when someone will need your protection will come.  
His name was Azfiel.

* The Principalities are a choir of angels - the third lowest in general, but highest in the lowest level (Angels - Archangels - Principalities). They are described as guardians to VIPs, whole groups, organizations or countries.


	2. The Builder

The young member of the Virtues* was a builder.  
Concerning his occupation he was a builder, anyway; but concerning his attitude he was a troublemaker, a free spirit and individualist. He felt at home among ladders and tools, and he relished examining sketches and plans intently or listening with enthusiasm to his superior Kokabiel giving out guidelines, glancing at him with friendly eyes and understanding nods, but then turning around and doing things completely differently from what Metatron had ordered them to be.  
He put two stars in a place meant for only one; the heat of both singed his skin, hair and feathers, but that was worth it.  
He delighted in placing stars on the pitch-black universe canvas in a way that they vaguely resembled forms of creatures to be – he had stolen glances at blueprints of those, and who said if you could construct them out of clay and sand that stars weren’t fit for them?  
Occasionally he just cast colours and celestial bodies into blank space the way coincidence would have it. Moons were a dime a dozen either way, some planets could very well use more than one. Should his fellow angels come along and ask what he thought he was doing, he cackled into their faces and told them he had invented ‘art’ – and since nobody knew what ‘art’ was supposed to be, they mostly disappeared quickly. Either that, or they made him face the superior angels.  
He had his fun swapping colour buckets – so a planet that should have been brownish-red finally appeared iridescent green – or manipulating tools – so that surfaces which were planned to be smooth and plain were edgy and hard.  
Finally, sometimes he enjoyed walking by Nelchael (for example) who would be balancing on a ladder at the moment and, in highest concentration, busy with placing the rings around a planet, and by sheer force of accident stumble over one of the ladder’s feet. This meant that either the rings would be put on completely askew – there was only one attempt for such a task, once they were fixed, that was that – or Nelchael would tumble to the floor shrieking, ladder and all. Maybe both, if he was lucky. Nellie shouldn’t get herself worked up over this – it wasn’t as if she could be injured, not by a puny fall, and he’d be crashing down right beside her. Surely not everybody had that kind of good sportspersonship.  
The builder’s troublemaking urges did not mean to say, though, that he never stepped back from one of his ‘constellations’ with utter pride and satisfaction. He was content and honoured to be working like this. Still, everybody could use a little loosening up… without a drop of chaos, there was no way this ‘universe’ could be complete.  
He never doubted – not one second. Not even when he was called to answer to a furious Kokabiel, a wearily indifferent Gabriel or a Metatron who treated him like a toddler he had neither time nor patience for. He laughed about it, just the louder the more intense their attempts at bringing him in line got. Relax, guys, was what he thought most often – we’re at the beginning. We have all the time and possibilities in the world.  
His joy in questioning things, or turning them on their head in a parody, finally lead him to join a group of nonconformists who at least claimed that they had reflected, that they didn’t want to go along with this anymore, lead by a power-hungry simpleton by the name of Lucifer. They used pseudonyms and moulded their bodies into different forms to preserve their anonymity and avoid being persecuted. By playing with the meaning of his name (‘to run to God’) and the means of movement of his chosen second form (that of a ‘snake’) the builder claimed the alias Crawly.  
He hung with the rebels simply because he found it exciting to talk to angels who had a different angle on things – even though he diverged from them in that he wanted to seek productive discussion and the amelioration of things, not the complete destruction of their framework, as Lucifer demanded. In his humble opinion, the angels in this group should occasionally take time to kick back and unwind a bit, no matter how much he appreciated their attempts at thinking for themselves.  
Nothing, though, which couldn’t as well be said about his superiors…  
Or, on the other hand, they should limit themselves less to talking and more to actually doing things – but who was he to tell anyone what to do. Be that as it may, the company of the insurgents proved as beneficial to him as his colleagues’ in the workshop – never mind the fact that one side mostly eyed him distrustfully from higher up and the other side increasingly put pressure on him to make him cause more serious disruption.  
He did not strive to cause any grave mischief. His tiny irreverences were more than enough.  
As he finally realized that this wasn’t a game, he was already in too deep.  
His name was Rahtiel.

* The Virtues are another choir of angels. Second in the middling sphere (Powers - Virtues - Dominions), they are responsible for the natural/ divine order of the universe as well as astronomy. Most miracles on Earth are said to be the Virtues' handiwork.


	3. Rahtiel

This was a suicide mission… Rahtiel knew it as well as anyone else, presumably even better than anyone else, but his warnings, thinly camouflaged as mockery, had fallen on deaf ears. What had the demons imagined? Too few of the fighters had joined them; with Beelzebub and Dagon Rahtiel could only think of two. The rest? Intellectuals, observers, advisors, builders like him… theoreticians who had never touched a weapon in their lives. Fine, they had Gadreel, but he was more of a blacksmith than a warrior… whatever were they hoping to achieve with this ‘glorious revolution’?

The worst part was that he did not want to be here at all. Oh no, on neither side. He had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. True, he had followed an invitation from his nonconformist friends, but he had had no idea that it had been a thinly veiled call to an uprising.

All along the way to the meeting he had pondered that perhaps he should slowly distance himself, at least from the dissident higher-ups… they were getting louder, increasingly grim and indignant if Rahtiel refused to apply the kind of brutality they for some reason wanted to see. They put pressure on him, made frequent threatening remarks, and the young builder did not care to put up with it anymore, much as he valued the company of the deviants and their ideas. Kokabiel and Gabriel, meanwhile, pressured him from the other side, tried to make him into an obedient little member of staff like all the others, since, they made gloomy insinuations, otherwise there was no way they could guarantee his safety. How uptight could one be? Both sides behaved as if life and death depended on this. It was a minor disagreement; nothing an honest discussion couldn’t fix.

It had seemed outlandish to him that those whom he met at the specified place carried weapons…

As the constructor finally heard Lucifer roar and loosen a devastating surge of flame at the place the angels called Heaven, it was too late, and he was in the middle of a mob he was unable to manoeuver himself out of. It wasn’t for lack of tries – but there was no escape from the circle of mutineers and the onslaught of the faithful.

The nonconformists around him threw themselves into battle, confident, screeching and brandishing their blades.

The loyal soldiers, wielding flaming swords and shouting commands, had seen no more than another rioter in him.

And the rioters had to be expelled.

Rahtiel, breathless with fright, inconsequentially asserted that he wasn’t with them, that he didn’t even know any of them – a lie, of course, but who should call him out on it? It was all about saving his skin. While she who led the loyal soldiers, an image of superiority, domination and pure, concentrated holy strength, engaged Lucifer in battle, Lucifer who met her offensive with a growl and all the strength of his bulging chest, Rahtiel’s only objective was to stay alive.

It had been loud, so awfully loud! Rahtiel’s head was buzzing with screams, with heat and blood, with the blaze of flames and the clink of metal to metal. The smell of smoke and soot was biting in his nostrils, but at least he was able to rely on his eyes. With snakelike skill and pliancy, he avoided the sword- and spear-blows of the angelic soldier who had chosen him as his target and was clearly unimpressed by his defencelessly lifted hands, his continuous, cautious stepping backward, his pleas and appeals to reason. In war, he understood at that moment, there was no middle ground, no subtle nuances.

They would be wiped out; they were just too few.

They would be expelled; they were just too inexperienced, too weak.

They would be destroyed; there was no mercy to be expected from the hallowed ones…

For Rahtiel, the central struggle was merely a concoction of furious roaring, agonising moaning and the varying impressions of clear or searing heat, depending on who was presently on the move. He could not even raise his head to check on Michael and Lucifer.

Of course, the builder who was now labelled a dissident knew all too well what the demons hoped to achieve with their ‘glorious revolution’: they wanted to subdue the angels, perhaps exterminate them, and claim this radiant place for themselves. They did not want to follow the Plan. Did they have any plans of their own, or would they be content to float through lawless chaos? Rahtiel would be damned if he knew.

It would not have taken an omniscient to lay out to them they were doomed to failure. The loyalist forces were a thousand times superior – numerically, in terms of power – only a third of Heaven’s population had joined the fight on their side, more or less voluntarily, and only a brittle minority thereof had martial training! Had anyone ever heard of the middle ground, calculated risk, waiting for the right moment, or weighing odds?

Why… could the angels… not simply _relax?_

He let out a snaky hiss; his opponent probably interpreted this as an attempt at intimidation as he lunged forward and made a sweep with his sword. Rahtiel barely dodged. He bit back a curse – such an irritable mind should not be vexed any further than necessary.

Then the battlefield was shaken by a scream, and everything including Rahtiel and his opponent froze for a few moments, turning to the source of the uproar. The builder saw thick, dark blood spurting from the head wound inflicted by Michael, an eye-searing white sun-jewel the size of merely the head of the monster Lucifer was, and he watched the leader of the dissidents tumbling down; not only falling to his knees, but also staggering sideways, ravaging the walls of Heaven, and lumbering down the nearest slope as intentless, limp, dead weight.

Rahtiel wanted to be shocked, frightened, stunned, desperate, disappointed – anything at all – but he found only the bilious, self-satisfied sensation of I-told-you-so in himself. He squinted his reptilian eyes as he observed Michael, magnificent victor, ascend with awesome wingbeat, her sword raised, announcing her victory to her comrades; there was something regal about it and it fascinated Rahtiel.

Until he felt flaming hot steel bite into his side.

Groaning he let himself crash to the floor, playing dead or at least badly wounded enough that his discorporation would be a mere question of time. This may very well have saved his existence. The angelic soldier waited a couple of moments before he grunted something unintelligible and turned away to return to his unit.

Rahtiel’s pain was excruciating; a wildfire was raging in his wound, the flames devastated his whole physique. Even his breath singed. However was he supposed to recover from this? How was he to find the strength to compose himself and leave this place, in his angelic or reptilian body?

What would happen to him if the victors found him like this?

In these moments, the builder feared he would never again be able to move painlessly, and this scared him since he was aware he could not die. The whole idea of never-ceasing pain… Would his body give way and crumble at any point? Would this assuage the pain or was his soul damned to an eternity in agony?

In these moments, the demon lost his resolve to stay in Heaven. Why should he if this was the treatment he had to expect? It couldn’t possibly be worse where his dissident friends were headed… better he left this behind, Heaven, this destiny and vocation, this body, this name, this identity. Possibly, he thought to himself, it was time to make Rahtiel, who had desperately wanted and tried to make this work, retire and give Crawly a chance – Crawly the nonconformist, Crawly the rebel, Crawly who does not fit in wherever he goes.

But to do this he would have to be able to assume Crawly’s form…

He waited… waited for seemingly an eternity until he felt some power seep back into him and until all noise was far enough away so he could assume he was alone, unguarded, could take on his snake form in peace and follow into exile those who were now, for better or worse, his allies. But as he opened his eyes and rolled onto his back, he beheld this ridiculously panicky, round face looming over him, framed by golden hair, dominated by torn open, blue-grey eyes…

In his trembling hand crackled a flaming sword, lifted fretfully.

So this was the last word; Crawly understood this without a second thought. It was over. He would be destroyed – this soldier would strike, without fail, true to his celestial duties. But he was mistaken if he expected Crawly to beg. No, he had never been a warrior, he had never wanted to be entangled in this, but he would not stoop this low in the last moments of his existence.


	4. Azfiel

This was a disaster… but Azfiel couldn’t possibly remove himself from it. He had his duties, his orders, his sanctified and joyfully anticipated task; he was not permitted to forsake any of this. Clinging to the handle of his flaming sword, timid and hesitant like a child, he stared over the devastated battlefield, saw the exuberance and triumph of the victorious, heard the hissing of the vanquished who were slowly withdrawing, sensed their anger upon defeat and their unspoken pledge: this shall not be the last time we meet.

More importantly, however, he felt his conviction crumble. So that was it – his vocation, the reason the Almighty had lifted him from the ether? This was protection? Screams rang in his ears; he saw and felt terror and uncontrollable fury, smelled the spilled blood; the heat of his flaming sword was painful on his hand and stinging in his eyes. He desired to hurl it away, flee and close his eyes tightly.  
But he didn’t. Resisting the impulse of his weak psyche, he persisted, stood next to his comrades and at least tried to assuage the horror and do his duty. 

He no longer felt at home within the ranks of those with whom he served. What were these creatures? They enjoyed this! Of course, Michael had warned everyone that it would not be pleasant and that they would have to do things that were bound to feel contemptible to them – but she had said nothing about these things causing intoxication and gratification. Probably, Azfiel told himself, that would go away, and they would be as horrified as he once they fully grasped what they had done. It was probably nothing that could be understood within the moment’s rush.

Later, reflecting in peace, they would comprehend the wisdom of this…

Upon looking up he saw Michael hovering above everything, conqueror of Lucifer, the megalomaniacal rebel, radiant and stunning like a second sun; each of her wingbeats blew hot wind at his back, and each of her words echoed in his skull: cast them out, out, out of our holy, pure realm!

Azfiel had known before the storm that he couldn’t – couldn’t just run with this. All instruction had been wiped from his head, he had trembled all over, tried to merely disarm or knock down his adversaries wherever possible, to not wound them mortally… but now? Now he had found a singular rebel who had been left behind. Now he was standing over the injured dissident who was glowering at him out of snake eyes, Azfiel’s chest quivered, and he knew: now was his time to shine.

He tried to see contempt and aggression in the snake eyes and failed.

He had to… raise his sword… and…

But that was not honorable. Not fair. The demon was incapacitated, wounded. His flank was bleeding, torn open to his thigh. He didn’t pose…

“Principality!”

… a threat any longer…

Why did they retreat without taking every last one of theirs? How could they simply leave this unfortunate worm behind, bleeding, panting and helpless? Was he even armed? Did he have enough strength to work a healing miracle on himself?

And how could it be that he who held him under his control with a flaming sword was utterly panicked while the defenceless demon showed no trace of emotion?

“Principality! Are you deaf?”

Azfiel winced upon being addressed so imperiously and guiltily jerked his head around to the caller. He stood in the wreckage, barefoot, surrounded by a mild green light, and his eyes were as challenging as they were homely. A higher angel, but much friendlier and more accessible than his officers. His presence alone seemed to mend cracks – it felt like a lovely melody that could lull a frenzied animal to sleep. “Is the demon at your feet still alive?”

Azfiel bit his lip – but spoke the truth instinctively. “Yes, Lord. I just wanted…”

“Nonsense,” he was interrupted briskly, “Lower the sword. Bring him here, I'll heal him. Then he can go.”

Hope flooded Azfiel’s heart. So he didn’t have to decide this poor worm’s fate! So there were others who were concerned about the welfare and health of all creatures in existence…

He happily turned to speak to the demon, to offer his hand, to animate him to try to get up. However, as he did so he noticed that his charge had turned into a black snake with the last of his strength and slithered away towards the banished, leaving a trail of blood. The snake’s head was turned back and the snake’s tongue fluttered – Azfiel felt assessed and knew suddenly, with a deep chill, they would recognize each other should their paths cross again. What this entailed… that would be seen come time…

No, he thought, don’t – we, he just wants to help! He raised his arm, took a step forward, wanted to call out, then sensed a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Let him go,” mumbled the caller beside him, and Azfiel reluctantly obeyed, pressing his lips together. “He made his choice. However, the day may come when you will meet again and he will be grateful for your compassion and justice.”

Azfiel didn’t reply – he didn’t know what to say. For one thing, he owed respect to this stranger, he felt it though he had never met him before; and on the other hand the remark that pressed against his throat was a deadpan ‘slowly I’m fed up with predicted days that will come sometime’.

There was a pause. Azfiel brought his hands together in front of his body. He had felt holier in his existence, and that was gnawing at him.

“What is your name, soldier?”

“Azfiel, Lord.”

“Honoured to meet you, Azfiel. My name is Raphael – and I think you did the right thing”.

An ice-cold arrow of shock went through Azfiel’s body upon hearing his interlocutor’s name, and the last half of his sentence went unheard by the soldier – the honoured Archangel Raphael stood beside him, and he dared to look him straight in the eye? “I acknowledge my misconduct,” he burst out, “most holy Archangel Raphael – it was wrong, a mistake – but listen to me, please, I can explain, I can…”

Raphael waved it off. “Not necessary,” he said, utterly tranquil, “you serve with Michael, I assume?”

Azfiel nodded.

“Figures. I know that she, Gabriel and Uriel think I’m weak and useless, but I think I can speak frankly to you. I disagree with their path. With their… interpretation. Nothing would have been won had you destroyed the demon. Nothing can be gained from destroying anyone – the Almighty’s word and guidance in all honour, but we must also remember that we are made to spread goodness, compassion, morality, order, and light. Why, then, should we destroy? We should be lenient. Empathetic. We should negotiate, heal and try to find compromises, not… this.”

He paused. There was bitterness in his features.

“I was told to protect,” Azfiel said hoarsely. “No more, no less.”

Raphael nodded considerately. “Is that what you want to do?”

“More than anything else.”

“Then I suggest you do just that, friend Azfiel.” With these words and a somewhat thin-lipped, but thoroughly honest smile, Archangel Raphael turned on his heels and walked away.

Azfiel continued to struggle for days with what he had drawn from that conversation – especially with the knowledge that things could not go on like this. That deep-cut changes were in order. Starting with his name; it seemed right to bear Raphael’s name in his to honour the Archangel who had so profoundly impressed him. He tried several variants and finally settled on Aziraphale; it could be interpreted as ‘Raphael as well’, and by swapping the last two letters it was at least dissimilar enough to the honoured Archangel’s name that he did not have to fear presumption of office.

The soldier was comfortable with, and as Aziraphale. It was like an anticipated meeting with a long-lost brother.

The opportunity for a change in vocation presented itself, finally, as the planet ‘Earth’ was populated. There was supposed to be a Garden surrounded by thick walls that should shield two extremely valuable, but also exceedingly fragile, creatures from the still untamed and unpredictable rest of Creation – not to mention the apostates who would certainly spoil this project of the Almighty with utmost glee. Some volunteers were to be stationed on the walls to ensure the safety and welfare of the ‘human’ couple. Aziraphale volunteered without a second’s hesitation, even if he was surprised, to say the least, that he was actually chosen to keep an eye on the Eastern Gate.

But there he was: upon the wall, walking barefoot, the flaming sword safely sheathed by his side. Archangel Gabriel, his new superior, was carefully confident. He smelled the spicy air, felt wind in his feathers and uniform and sunlight on his face. The humans far below seemed fragile and worth protecting indeed.

It was a job befitting Aziraphale’s taste.


	5. Aziraphale

There was unrest in the Garden, uproar and commotion. The alarmed Aziraphale did not initially have any idea what exactly was happening – all he could discern was the first woman, furiously stomping towards his gate, who was pursued by a madly scolding and arguing first man. She seemed deaf to his words, whatever they might be. Time after time he reached for her, occasionally grabbing hold of her at various points along her arm, but she wriggled away every time, hissing and lunging at him, her flawless face disfigured by raging anger.

Aziraphale saw this as his call to action.

He hurriedly went downstairs and appeared, with a respectful distance, in front of Lilith with his arms raised soothingly – he had wisely left the flaming sword up on his post. In this situation, he didn’t want to appear intimidating; tempers needed soothing, a quarrel needed to be set aside. This was a time for gentleness and sweetness. “Hello. What seems to be the problem here?” he asked kindly, an affectionate smile on his face, and almost recoiled in shock as Lilith sized him up with much the same contempt she expressed for Adam.

“Get out of my way, angel of the Lord,” she snapped, approaching Aziraphale who took half a step back but kept blocking the exit, “I’m not going to put up with this any longer. I’ll go, I’ll leave this behind, and neither you, nor your Lord or whatever, nor he…” with which she glared over her shoulder at the petrified Adam, “…can do anything to stop me.”

“Oh Lilith, don’t.” Now he approached the first woman, arms spread as if he wanted to embrace her, and yet shied away from actually touching her. The confident smile on Aziraphale’s face wavered. “Please don’t do that. Don’t go out there. We should rather talk this out, right? Here, in safety. The land out there is hot, barren and inhospitable, and there are wild… vicious, unpredictable animals… you will… it will be dangerous.”

Lilith’s gaze slid back and forth between the angel and the first man – then she grimaced again and shimmied past the angel, grumbling to herself.

“She’s out of her mind!” Adam cried as Lilith had stepped out beyond the wall, “What does she hope to find out there? And all because…”

“Yes?” Aziraphale prodded, remaining in the wall inlet – his body clearly tensed, prepared to follow the woman, but his head turned toward Adam. He reckoned he had to understand what had happened in order to successfully talk Lilith out of this.

“… because I want to be her guardian as the Lord is ours,” said the human in a much slower voice.

Aziraphale was desperately trying to concoct a proper reply to this – a reply he could voice without violating his heavenly temperance, but he couldn’t think of anything. And Lilith moved further away from her home every second. So Adam had to be content with a bitter, reproachful glance, with the unspoken hint that he was to reconsider his place in the big system as opposed to hers and the Lord’s, before the angel furled his wings and robe and finally followed the fugitive out into the desert.

“All I want is her safety!” Adam shouted after him, but the objection hardly registered. Lilith – he had to stop Lilith!

Soon he saw that he was almost too late.

Lilith had halted, but she was no longer alone. Beside her stood a towering figure with three pairs of white-silvery wings, short-cropped hair and deep light-blue eyes, to an extent that they looked almost airily white, donning a flowing, equally light-blue-grey robe, trimmed with silver. Judging by their movements, the two argued violently.

Oh no. Not yet – not Gabriel of everyone…

Well, Gabriel was responsible for humanity. Who if not him?

Gabriel noticed the lower-ranking angel sprinting closer long before Lilith could. His expression as he turned toward Aziraphale was thoroughly unkind. “We’ll have words later, Aziraphale,” he growled, trying to push him back with his arm outstretched, “we’ll have to talk about responsibility and work ethos. To imagine that I have to explain to a qualified soldier how to handle a guard mission!”

But Aziraphale completely neglected him. “Lilith!” he called to the human who turned toward him, rolling her eyes, “Lilith, I beseech you – this doesn’t have to be the last word. It doesn’t have to end like this! Look, Adam – Adam didn’t mean it. He never wanted to offend you. He’ll apologize. He will never do it again.”

“What is the issue at hand?” Gabriel demanded imperiously.

Lilith gave a condescending sound, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t believe you,” she grumbled, “I've been trying to talk to him forever, to prove to him that I can do and know as much as he does – but he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t even listen. This… this bettered ape does not care how I am or what I feel and whether I can take perfectly good care of myself. He merely wants something that he has under his control, like your Lord controls us – or you.”

“You will return,” Gabriel growled at her placing his shovel-wide hand on her narrow shoulder which she was trying to wrest from him instantly but uselessly, “you will return and take your place in the order the Almighty has imposed upon us.”

Aziraphale huffed. No way to a satisfying conclusion like this…

“I will not tolerate such insubordinate behaviour in my area of responsibility.”

This remark seemed to empower Lilith anew, and she finally managed to tear herself away from the silvery Archangel and, fiercely determined, continue on her way. Both angels pursued her – luckily Aziraphale managed to reach her first, though both angels finally kept pace with her, flanking her. Lilith strode briskly, as if she didn’t notice her heavenly entourage at all.

“Wait a minute,” the Principality implored, well aware of his superior’s murderous look, and fished for the woman's hands as if to encourage her to stop, “please listen to me, Lilith, just for a moment…”

“No, you listen to me.” She jerked to a sudden halt to abruptly, but decidedly turn away from Gabriel and grasp Aziraphale’s hands – firmly, ardently. It almost hurt. The human skin was warmer than his, and he stared into Lilith’s face, hoping that he could convey his discomfort and concern about her chosen destiny in a convincing and touching way. 

“If you are happy with your destiny – with being pushed around and ordered around, fine by me. It was still bearable as long as it was only your Almighty that I had to obey. But now he too? No, angel.” She shook her head gravely, and Aziraphale sensed, despite himself, compassion and comprehension grow inside him. “No, I refuse. He is no better…”

That was the last sentence she could attempt before her eyeballs unexpectedly rolled into the back of her head, her mouth slipped open, still relaxed from the last sound she had uttered, and her grip on the angel’s hands went limp and slack. Everything about her seemed to give way, fall off, her limbs buckled without resistance and control and she toppled backwards – straight into Gabriel’s arms.

Aziraphale wanted to scream, grab her, hug her to him and spirit her away personally, hide her away, nurse her back to health – but the Archangel had already lifted her up like a toddler. “That I have to listen to this seditious chatter at all,” he growled, turning back toward the Garden with his unconscious load, “the word of our Almighty is law – you should make this clear to yourself once again, Aziraphale. You are such a good agent, it would be a crying shame to have you stand trial for treason.”

“But she is right,” a stunned Aziraphale stammered, “Adam is no better or different than she is. There is no reason…”

The Archangel shrugged. “None of my business,” he replied lightly, “or yours, as far as that is concerned. This is about divine order, and it requires that we protect man and woman in the Garden”.

Aziraphale was silent while he walked back to Eden next to Gabriel who was carrying the unconscious Lilith. Her arm lolled and swung faintly in front of him. But the damage was done. Grief, dismay and disbelief had eaten deeply into his soul.

The Principality received a warning which he accepted with less restlessness and mortification than he would have imagined and was subsequently permitted to return to his post.

Security and patrols on the walls were redoubled, and all angels were instructed to keep an eye on Lilith. It was quite possible that she was still up to something.

Lilith’s curses and expletives, reaching his ear as she awoke in the protection of the Garden, resonated in his ear canals and ached in his soul. A handful of animals came to comfort her: owls, snakes, ravens, lizards, cats, frogs, to name a few, and neither the woman herself nor any of the beasts allowed Adam to walk up even at arms’ length.

It happened a mere handful of nights later; a similarly experienced soldier had been commanded to guard the Eastern Gate with Aziraphale. At first they thought nothing of the handful of owls fluttering up from the Garden to them – most animals liked to stay within the boundaries of Eden where it was comfortable and safe, but some occasionally dared to take a peek over the walls. So far, this was therefore neither remarkable nor disturbing.

They thought nothing of it until the night birds attacked the angels with vicious screeching, beating of wings, claws and beaks and could neither be stopped nor soothed by their screams, by the flailing of their hands and wings. Snake mouths snapped at their ankles from the ground, slender snake bodies tried to make them stumble and fall, and the angels had to pay utter attention lest they trample any of the reptiles by mistake.

The struggle only lasted a short time before the animals lost interest and returned to Eden’s trees where they nested, or crawled back into the grass as if severely beaten. Aziraphale, however, mused that shortly after they had retreated, as he had cast a restless catch-up glance into the nocturnal blackness outside of the Garden, he had caught a glimpse of a human running for dear life.

He made no report.

The next morning Lilith was gone. Gabriel almost flew into a fit of rage upon being informed of this, berated Lilith wildly as a witch and the like and let the angels search for her in couples and triples, but she never reappeared.

Aziraphale acted deeply disheartened – but in his heart he applauded Lilith and wished her all the best.


	6. Crawly

“Now… what do we have here?”

A slithering, alluring voice reached the ear of the newly named and newly outcast Crawly who had settled on the edge of the Garden, hidden by vegetation, legs crossed, hands clenched tightly. His face was like chiselled; his mind felt much the same. He wanted to let himself be overwhelmed by cold rage, but for some reason, it didn’t quite work.

The newly born demon had just shed his scales in which he had spent what felt like years – until the wounds from the Revolution were closed. (The physical wounds, at least.) The angelic physique was as familiar to him as it had been initially repulsive – a prison, too full of memories of a time in which he had light-heartedly played pranks on his fellow angels. Black wings arched on his back and he wore his usual black robe. Scattered scales still stuck to his skin – neck, shoulders, arms, back, maybe even legs, he didn’t care enough to check. His face he had lazily brushed clean with his hands, but that was the length to which his need for cleanliness went. Long red hair curled around his forehead. If you were shown the door with such decisiveness, you could at least go in style.

And now this… Crawly didn’t know what to make of the creatures who looked like him and his comrades – former comrades – but felt completely different. All he saw was that they were joyful and apparently highly favoured from above, that this was soaked in a harmony that he remembered from above, and all of it ticked him off without him being able to put a pin into why.

Hadn’t he always done his best to crumble kitschy harmony…?

He also saw, however, that his imitation of what the Almighty had planned as a ‘snake’ was rather competent. Small fortunes.

“A stray chick, I would assume”. Soft laughter rang in his ears while he still did his best to ignore the speaker. “What might it be looking for here, so far away from home?”

Earlier he had noticed something peculiar: a white snake, much too big in comparison to the animals around here. A snake which had somehow seemed to be too… attentive. Not in the animal, instinctive sense, however. It had appeared as if it had been looking for something, stealthily glancing around with the completely non-animalistic ulterior motive of not being seen, not being discovered, not wanting to be caught. Well, Crawly had only briefly concerned himself with the white animal – too soon his attention had turned back to the ‘humans’ who wandered through the Garden, holding hands and croaking incomprehensible sounds.

This happiness. This peace. This… light-heartedness and absolute security.

Cold anger, he reminded himself. Do you know – do you feel it?

But there was just emptiness in him. He couldn’t think of any way to disrupt the situation, uncharacteristic enough. Not even the mere idea of pranking these ‘humans’ made him feel at ease.

“Maybe he could be tempted by like-minded company…”

A hardened, scaly and uneven hand brushed his elbow.

It had been strange, too, that the white reptile had, hissing and flicking its tongue, neared him fearlessly through the high grass and slithered all too close along his crossed legs. Since his Fall the living creatures rather avoided him, a fact that only added to his bitterness. Not this snake, however. Even as he had reached out, absentmindedly caressing its scaly, lean, elegant back, it hadn’t flinched.  
He could read the signs. That he now heard a voice from where he had last seen the snake could only mean one thing.

“Save your effort,” he growled at the speaker, turning his head to her, “I’m no longer an angel. Could have discerned that by now, by the way.”

What he saw as he finally contemplated the speaker reminded him eerily of the white reptile. The speaker, lying flat on her stomach in the grass next to him, was beautiful, but in a rather unusual way: she had narrow, piercing, pure white eyes, the area where a nose should sit was smooth. There didn’t seem to be a single hair on her whole body. Her skin was pale – but that wasn’t quite right either; it was rather a strange, chalky grey-green-white. Her lips were slender and colourless, the teeth he could see between them were needle-pointed, and there were hardened, horn-crown-like growths on her forehead.

“What’s going through your head, lovely?” she cooed, shamelessly exposing herself to his glance, and Crawly pressed his lips together, unsure whether he should sit statuesque or lean away from her, “Revenge plans, yes? Do you want to punish those who have expelled you from Heaven as urgently as Lucifer does?”

Lucifer. Crawly flinched, and his teeth were slightly bared. “What do you know about Lucifer?” he growled, finally deciding it would be best to turn away.

Lucifer, that accursed, greedy, careless, short-sighted imbecile. That idiot who had had nothing better to do than more or less deliberately dragging a third of the heavenly workforce down into damnation with him. If he wanted to fall, well and good, he should do what he liked, but what did all of that concern Crawly? What did it concern anyone save Lucifer himself? Crawly was uncertain at the moment what and who he should hate more, this megalomaniac fool or himself who had gotten involved with him and his companions and hadn’t even suspected how serious it was until things were said and done.

“Oh, a lot,” she replied promptly, full of amusement, sitting up a bit, “but I don’t think that matters, because he is far, far away, licking his wounds. We, however, are here…”, she gestured evocatively to the lavish green and rich surroundings of Eden, “… here in this wonderful place, where everything is so… exquisitely peaceful and untouched. We sneaked in like the snakes we are, unrecognized, unstoppable, unnoticed I hope… do we want to let this opportunity pass?”

Crawly raised his head again and stared wearily at his interlocutor. “What's your deal?” he asked.

The question did not upset this white absurdity. Not a bit. “Isn’t it more important who I am?” she replied playfully, reaching for one of Crawly’s copper-red locks and letting it slide through her fingers almost tenderly, “I am the fallen human, Crawly. I am the disobedient, the rebel, the troublemaker. I am she who has refused to grant the Lord command over her – I am she who has withdrawn, torn away, freed herself. I…” she smirked, “I have no use for an Adam in my life.”

“Lilith,” Crawly breathed.

“Lilith,” she confirmed with an uncanny smile.

The fall of Lilith, the first woman, had caused a lot of turmoil and enthusiasm, especially among the demons. It supported the demons in their rebellion and showed them that they were not alone – that there were ways. Crawly, despite the pronounced distance he kept from the other demons, had heard the stories – tales of the first woman who had, in a burst of rage, left Eden after an argument with Adam. An argument that had been brought even to Archangel Gabriel’s attention without receiving any kind of settlement. Some claimed that she had died in the rough, unreceptive lands out there – obviously that wasn’t the case.

Some said the Almighty had caught and displaced her, maybe brought her back to the Garden in a different form – could it have been this white snake?

But some, and this possibility troubled Crawly quite a bit, believed she’d met Lucifer out there on her pointless wanderings, and their two rebellious, frontier-breaking spirits had interwoven in more ways than one. Some even claimed that she sold her soul to him in exchange for demonic power…

Crawly stole a glance into Lilith’s eyes. If he had ever seen a soulless pair of eyes, well, it was those.

“Are you looking for veneration?” Crawly asked throatily. Because you won’t get it, he added in his mind, sounding stronger and more resistant than he felt; if she had power like Lucifer, what chance could he hope to stand?

Lilith laughed again – a resonant, extremely pleasant sound. Crawly’s fear didn’t subside. “I want nobody’s worship or service,” she rejected that, “all I want is freedom, self-determination, not having to obey anyone’s command and advice other than my own. We’re not that different in that regard, are we?”

Crawly said nothing. But he couldn’t hide the fact that her words touched something in him.

“And it appears to me…” her lips curled up in a devious grin, “that, with the right form of persuasion, we can manage to give our human charges over there some of this most cherished freedom.”

Crawly kept his peace, though he felt the strain on his psyche grow. Did it have a point to resist?

“Don’t you pity them, Crawly, locked up behind these walls?” Expressively she indicated the brickwork around them. “Just think: wherever they turn, they can only see the grey wall. Locked up and locked in their fates by the Almighty’s will…”

“What if?” he exclaimed, clenching his fists on his thighs, “What is a simple… demon… supposed to do about it?”

As if deeply lost in thoughts, Lilith turned her face toward the sun burning down from on high. From this perspective, her profile looked even more repulsive, and yet… once she had been as innocent and pure as he was.

Had been.

Once.

“There is this commandment,” she explained, dragging her voice, “a little odd, that was. The commandment said that for whatever reason, we must not ever touch the apple tree in the middle of the Garden. Isn’t that funny?”

Funny, yes, Crawly thought… and above all an opportunity too good to miss. The old agitator stirred in him as he leaned forward and put on the scales again, crawled out through the grass into the Garden as a snake. Leave this to me, Lilith, he thought while he made his split tongue flick and flutter, checking the smells of the Garden. You’re right… you can’t possibly leave this tree unexplored. If you want to keep something secret and still place it well within reach of those who should not know anything about it – then you deserve all the consequences.

After the mischief, Crawly intended to get away as quickly as possible – he had been waiting and hiding, watching things unravel after his temptation – but then his eyes fell on the angel who was overseeing the exodus, first from the ground, then from above the Eastern Gate.

He hissed in cheek. That one seemed familiar, didn’t he…?

So he decided to delay his retreat, instead to approach the toy soldier and scorn him a bit. 

Possibly, yes, it was time to recompense eviction with smugness.


End file.
